Blaire frowned. The tiny crease between her eyebrows made it look as if she had just heard the most absurd business proposal of her life.

"You are unemployed," Blaire stated, her voice devoid of any fluctuation. "You cannot even afford the tuition for a Manhattan private kindergarten."

Daryl reached down and scooped Cassie into his arms. He pressed her head against his shoulder and covered her ears with his large hand. He stared at Blaire, his gaze sharp enough to draw blood.

Estevan stepped out from behind Blaire. He wanted to show who owned the room. He picked up the divorce agreement from the table and flipped it open.

"Let us see," Estevan said, projecting his crisp, aristocratic accent across the room.

He began to read the asset division clauses aloud. The terms were brutal.

"The party of the second part, Daryl Bush, having made zero financial contribution during the marriage, shall leave with zero assets. He is permanently barred from approaching any core properties of the Doyle family."

Marlene began to shake. Her frail body trembled violently in the wheelchair. She pointed a shaking finger at Blaire.

"How can you be so heartless?" Marlene gasped, her voice cracking.

Blaire looked at the wall, avoiding the old woman's eyes.

"My legal team drafted this based on the prenuptial agreement," Blaire said coldly. "It is a legal assessment."

Estevan walked over to Marlene's wheelchair. He leaned down, bringing his face close to hers. A malicious smile twisted his lips.

"It is not just the assets, old woman," Estevan whispered, making sure Daryl could hear. "That little apartment in Queens you live in? The bank is taking it back next week."

The words hit Marlene like a physical blow. Her pupils dilated instantly. Her chest heaved as she tried to suck in air, but nothing came.

Marlene's hands clawed at the fabric over her heart. Her face drained of all color, turning a sickly, ashen gray. A terrible hissing sound rattled in her throat.

Daryl's stomach dropped. He shoved Estevan backward with his free hand and dropped to his knees beside the wheelchair.

Marlene's eyes rolled back. Her body went completely limp, sliding off the leather seat and collapsing into Daryl's arms.

Cassie screamed. The piercing sound shattered the air in the room.

Blaire took a sudden step back. Her high heel caught on the carpet. A flash of genuine panic crossed her face, but her arms remained glued to her sides. She did not move to help.

Daryl laid his mother flat on the floor. He ripped open the collar of her blouse and locked his hands over the center of her chest, beginning rapid compressions.

"Call an ambulance!" Daryl roared over his shoulder, his voice tearing his throat.

Estevan brushed off the sleeve of his suit where Daryl had touched him. He looked down at the scene with utter disgust.

"What a pathetic, lower-class circus," Estevan muttered.

The words hit Daryl's ears. His hands stopped moving for exactly one second.

Daryl slowly lifted his head. Deep within his dark pupils, a terrifying, dark-gold light flared to life.

The temperature in the private dining room plummeted. The air grew heavy, thick, and freezing. Above them, the massive crystal chandelier began to vibrate, emitting a low, eerie hum.

An invisible, crushing pressure exploded from Daryl's body. The Draconic aura surged forward like a tidal wave of pure violence, slamming directly into Estevan.

Estevan's lungs seized. He could not breathe. His knees buckled instantly as a primal terror gripped his spine. It felt as if a prehistoric beast had just wrapped its jaws around his throat.

Estevan stumbled backward in blind panic. His back slammed into the dining table. The impact sent a dozen wine glasses crashing to the floor, shattering into a sea of red liquid and broken glass.

Blaire stared at Estevan in shock. She could not comprehend why he was suddenly acting like a terrified madman.

Daryl's mind teetered on the edge of a bloodbath. But the faint, fading pulse beneath his hands pulled him back.

He forced the dark-gold light out of his eyes. He sucked the terrifying pressure back into his bones and resumed the chest compressions, pushing down hard.

Estevan leaned against the table, gasping for air. Sweat soaked through his custom shirt. He tried to glare at Daryl, masking his inexplicable terror with forced anger.

The heavy doors banged open. Hotel paramedics rushed into the room with a stretcher, breaking the suffocating silence.

Daryl helped the medics lift his mother's lifeless body onto the stretcher. As he stood up, he turned his head and looked at Estevan. It was the look a butcher gives a dead piece of meat.

The red light above the emergency room doors burned like a warning sign.

Daryl sat slumped on the hard plastic chair in the hallway of New York-Presbyterian Hospital. His hands rested on his knees, stained with the dried blood from his mother's cracked lips during the compressions.

Cassie huddled against his chest. She was sobbing quietly, her tiny fists gripping the fabric of his cheap shirt so tightly her knuckles were white.

A chaotic, aggressive march of footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor.

Beatrice Doyle, Blaire's mother, led the charge. She wore an expensive mink shawl draped over her shoulders. Her husband, Preston, and her son, Jaxon, flanked her like bodyguards.

The moment Beatrice saw Daryl, her face twisted in disgust. She pulled a silk handkerchief from her purse and pressed it against her nose, as if the very air around him was contaminated.

Jaxon walked straight up to Daryl and kicked the metal trash can next to the plastic chairs. The loud crash echoed down the hall. Several nurses poked their heads out of nearby rooms, glaring at the noise.

"Nice trick," Jaxon sneered, looking down at Daryl. "Having the old lady fake a heart attack to stall the divorce. Real classy."

Daryl snapped his head up. The pure, unfiltered violence in his eyes hit Jaxon like a physical blow. Jaxon swallowed hard and instinctively took a step back, his shoulders hitting the wall.

Preston stepped forward, puffing out his chest. He adopted the tone of a corporate dictator.

"Do not try to intimidate the heir of the Doyle family with your thuggish behavior," Preston warned sternly. "The Doyle Group rings the bell at the New York Stock Exchange next month. We will not tolerate any negative PR involving a spouse."

Blaire walked down the hallway from the opposite direction. She held a fresh cup of black coffee in her hand. Her face was perfectly composed, the mask of absolute rationality firmly back in place.

Cassie saw her mother. She wriggled out of Daryl's arms and ran toward Blaire, wrapping her arms around Blaire's legs.

"Mommy, please don't let them send Grandma away," Cassie begged, tears streaming down her face.

Blaire looked down at her daughter's wet, pleading face. Her hand trembled. A single drop of hot black coffee spilled over the rim of the cup and landed on the toe of her designer heel.

For a fraction of a second, the Aethelred Method cracked. A sliver of human hesitation showed in her eyes.

Beatrice saw it instantly. She lunged forward, grabbed Cassie by the arm, and roughly shoved the child back toward Daryl.

"Think about the Montgomery family, Blaire," Beatrice hissed sharply. "Think about the billions Estevan brings to the table."

The words acted like a switch. The crack in Blaire's mind sealed shut. Her eyes turned back to stone.

She handed the coffee to her assistant and walked over to Daryl, looking down at him from her high heels.

"The resuscitation fees here are astronomical," Blaire stated, her voice flat. "Without my signature and my insurance, you cannot even afford the deposit for tonight."

Daryl let out a low, dry laugh. He looked at her, his chest rising and falling slowly.

"Are you holding my mother's life hostage to make me sign?"

Preston chimed in from the side. "It is called commercial leverage. Something a bottom-feeder like you will never understand."

The heavy doors of the emergency room pushed open. The attending physician walked out, his face grim, scanning the hallway for family.

"Marlene Bush is stabilized, but she suffered a severe panic-induced cardiac event," the doctor announced. "She needs to be moved to the ICU immediately."

The doctor handed Daryl a long, printed estimate. The total at the bottom was hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Daryl glanced at the numbers, his expression unchanging. He had a supplementary credit card from Blaire in his wallet, but using it meant accepting her twisted charity. More importantly, he possessed his own hidden resources that could buy this entire hospital in a heartbeat. He refused to bend his spine for her manipulative games.

Jaxon whistled loudly. He crossed his arms, a sickening grin on his face, waiting for Daryl to break down and beg.

Daryl did not even look at the paper again. He kept his eyes locked on Blaire. The look he gave her was completely devoid of anger. It was just an endless, freezing void of absolute disappointment.

Daryl stood up. He gently pushed Cassie toward a passing nurse. "Watch her for one minute, please."

He walked right up to Blaire. He stopped so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

Daryl leaned in. His voice was a deadly whisper, meant only for her ears.

"Your commercial empire," Daryl said, the words vibrating in his chest, "is nothing but a pile of trash I can crush whenever I want."

Blaire felt a sharp prick of unease at the absolute dominance in his tone. She quickly pushed the feeling down, convincing herself it was just the pathetic bluff of a desperate man.

Blaire gestured to her assistant. The assistant pushed open the door to the hospital's VIP lounge. A senior partner from a top-tier law firm was already waiting inside, his briefcase resting on the glass table.

The lawyer pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose. He slid a freshly printed divorce agreement, stamped with the firm's gold foil logo, to the center of the table.

Daryl walked into the room. He did not sit. His tall, broad frame cast a heavy, oppressive shadow over the table.

The lawyer began to read the terms in a robotic, clinical voice. He listed the stripping of Daryl's rights to the Doyle family trust, the real estate, and even the cars he used for groceries.

Blaire sat on the leather sofa. She crossed her long legs and stared out the window at the Manhattan skyline, acting as if the man she had slept next to for five years did not exist.

The lawyer finished reading. He pulled out a pre-signed check, placed it on top of the agreement, and pushed it toward Daryl.

"This is a settlement of five million dollars," the lawyer explained. "The condition is that you surrender all custody rights to Cassie and sign a lifetime Non-Disclosure Agreement."

Before Daryl could speak, the lounge door burst open. Marlene's attending physician rushed in, looking frantic.

"I apologize for the interruption," the doctor said, out of breath. "Marlene woke up briefly in the ICU. She is extremely agitated. She is demanding to see Blaire."

Blaire frowned. She let out an annoyed sigh, clearly viewing this as an unnecessary delay, but she stood up and walked out of the room to get it over with.

The group gathered outside the glass wall of the Intensive Care Unit. Marlene lay in the bed, an oxygen mask strapped to her face. She turned her head weakly and looked through the glass at Blaire.

Marlene lifted a trembling hand. Her eyes were wide with desperate pleading, begging her daughter-in-law to show mercy.

Blaire stepped up to the glass. She pressed the intercom button on the wall. Her voice piped into the room, cold, steady, and utterly ruthless.

"I am divorcing him, Marlene," Blaire said. "And I am taking Cassie. Your son is a failure. He does not deserve to be a father."

Marlene's eyes widened in sheer terror. The heart monitor next to her bed instantly erupted into a high-pitched, continuous wail.

Marlene's body convulsed once, and she fell back into a deep coma. Doctors and nurses sprinted into the room, charging the defibrillator.

Daryl watched his mother flatline because of Blaire's words. The last thread of his restraint snapped.

He spun around. His hand shot out and clamped around Blaire's wrist. His grip was like a steel vise, pressing so hard the bones in her arm ground together.

Blaire let out a sharp cry of pain. Her mask of ice shattered. She stared up at Daryl, her eyes wide with sudden, raw terror. He looked like a demon crawling out of hell.

Preston roared and lunged forward to grab Daryl's arm. Jaxon stayed safely behind his father, his previous terror keeping him pinned to the wall as he shouted empty threats. "Let go of my sister!" Jaxon yelled, his voice cracking.

Daryl did not even touch them. A terrifying, invisible shockwave of Draconic energy exploded from his body. The force of it acted like a guided missile, completely bypassing Blaire's trembling form. The invisible wave curved over her shoulder and slammed directly into Preston's chest. Both Preston and the cowering Jaxon were thrown backward, crashing hard onto the linoleum floor.

Daryl shoved Blaire away. He pointed a shaking finger down the hallway.

"Get out!" Daryl roared. The sound shook the glass windows.

Blaire stumbled backward, her back hitting the wall. A dark red bruise was already forming on her wrist.

Daryl's eyes were bloodshot, his chest heaving. "From this second on, you are permanently banned from coming near my mother. If you take one step toward that room, I will bury the entire Doyle family."

Blaire's heart hammered against her ribs. The killing intent in his eyes was so real, so suffocating, that her throat closed up. She could not force a single word out.

The family lawyer, trembling in the corner, nervously held up the divorce agreement, trying to break the terrifying tension.

Daryl snatched the papers from the lawyer's hands. He marched back into the VIP lounge and grabbed the Montblanc pen from the table.

He did not read a single word of the asset stripping clauses. He flipped to the last page and slashed his signature across the bottom line.

Then, he picked up the five-million-dollar check.

While Blaire watched in stunned silence, Daryl ripped the check in half. Then he tore it again, and again, until it was nothing but confetti. He threw the pieces right into Blaire's face.